Vermin? You sure?
by Laburnum Steelfang
Summary: The remake. RedwallXWelkin Weasels. Tagg and Nimbalo encouter a group of strange weasels on their travels. . .
1. Prologue, Credits and Explanations

_**Vermin? You sure?**_

**Prologue and Credits.**  
First of all, I'd like to give a HUGE bundle of thanks to Beboots, the original author. This story was written by Beboots and taken and modified by me with permission. I suffered writer's block for several months, then almost forgot about it, but I finally got round to writing something for it. I wanted to wait till I'd finished it before posting, but that's going to take forever and I couldn't wait. I have adjusted parts to make my take on the story work better, but most of the first few chapters and the basic idea are courtesy of Beboots. Redwall and its characters are copyright Brian Jacques and Welkin and its weasels are copyright Garry Kilworth. I am not making any money from this, so if the aforementioned authors are reading this, please don't sue.  
Also, I'd like to thank my mother for proofreading for me. I'm pretty obsessive about good spelling, but I make mistakes too.  
Now then, this is a Redwall (specifically, Taggerung)/ Welkin Weasels crossover. It takes place at the beginning of "Castle Storm" in Welkin and from the middle of chapter twenty-eight of "Taggerung". (I changed the time period a little from Beboot's original because my story made more sense that way. Sorry Beboots - don't worry, the character I missed out will show up later. Promise.) As many of my readers haven't read the Welkin Weasels series, I've decided to put a prologue, explaining some necessary background detail. I will add more in other chapters as needed. Any characters not introduced here will be described when we meet them. If you have already read one of the Welkin Weasels books, you can just skip this chapter. I have tried to avoid too much detail about the storyline of the books, but the story _will _contain at least some spoilers, so beware.

**Glossary of words in alphabetical order:**  
Groats: Form of currency. (Really used in Middle Ages England around the time period of these books)  
Hollyhockers: A gambling game. Basically the player throws a cupful of hollyhock seeds onto a table and wins or loses depending on what pattern the seeds fall into, but the rules are full of hideous complications.  
Honey dew: An alcoholic drink made from honey (duh). Sort of Welkin's answer to seaweed grog, but it tastes better.  
Jack: Term for "male", can mean "boy" or "man.  
Jill: Term for "female", can mean "girl" or "woman.  
Mountain Hiker Song, The: A counting-down song (like "Ten Green Bottles" - or "Ninety-Nine Bottles Of Beer On The Wall" if you're American) about twenty hikers who fall over cliffs one by one. Rather a gruesome little tune. Just shows what people did before Itchy and Scratchy.  
Mustelid: Term referring to stoats, weasels, ferrets, pine martens, otters etc. Same idea as Redwall's "vermin" or "woodlanders". Yes, it's a real word. Look it up.  
Welkin: The island inhabited by the mustelids.

**Now then, a brief summary of exactly what Welkin is:**  
Long ago, humans inhabited the island of Welkin. There was a king and a queen, who split the island in half. They feuded, and eventually they decided, for the good of all the people, to leave and start life anew in another place. But the children didn't want to leave, so they left clues for anyone to follow, if they could, to bring them back.  
This was many generations ago. No living mustelid could remember a time when there were humans, although there were many living statues (yes, the statues are alive; this may be a plot point later) of them, so they did not fade from memory.  
The larger and more powerful stoats became the upper classes; the smaller weasels were only considered fit to be servants and near-slaves, often mistreated and ill-fed.  
One group of weasels, an outlaw band led by the weasel Sylver, began to resist the stoat oppressors. The other band members are Icham, Sylver's best friend; Bryony, a sensitive vegetarian; Alysoun-the-fleet, the fastest runner in Welkin; Wodehed, the wizard and healer; Luke, the priest; Mawk-the-doubter; Scirf, an ex-dungwatcher with good brains but terrible personal hygiene; and Miniver, the finger-weasel (polite term for midget). They reside in Halfmoon Wood in County Elleswhere, and are aided by the kindly but forgetful old stoat Lord Haukin of Thistle Hall, and Lord Haukin's weasel servant Culver.  
Their main nemesis is the stoat Prince Poynt, who is technically king of Welkin although he hasn't actually been crowned. He refuses to change into his brown fur from ermine in the summer, and so he is subconsciously convinced it's winter all the time. This makes him feel cold, even in summer.The court is really run by Poynt's more intelligent sister, Princess Sibiline, and his second-in-command, Sheriff Falshed.  
The main mission of the weasel band is to bring back the humans, not only to save them from the stoats, but also to repair the dykes (sea walls) surrounding the island. If they aren't repaired, then the sea will rush in, flooding the entire island, resulting in everybeast drowning. They have been temporarily repaired, but the dykes need human hands to mend them and release them from the threat of springing rather large leaks. With the help of a little girl's coded diary found at Thistle Hall, the weasels are searching for clues as to where the humans might be.

**Little notes on the "woodlanders" of Welkin:** Things are a bit different on this island. Yes, there are hedgehogs, otters, hares, squirrels, moles (although they don't speak molespeech), and several types of shrew (some being intelligent, some being more guard-dog like.  
Mice, voles and rabbits, however, are beasts of burden, and are no more intelligent than say a worm would be in Redwall, or a cow in our world. They are even eaten! Mouse steak and vole sausages are regular parts of the menu! It took some getting used to, let me tell you, while I was reading the books. The weasels and stoats happily eat things like worms and beetles as well.  
Also, the beasts of Welkin click their teeth instead of laughing, and they don't use terms from Redwall like "everybeast".

And while I'm here, before I fade into the background as that shadowy figure "The Author" (sounds like a tarot card, doesn't it?) I would like to encourage other readers of Garry Kilworth's work to write their own Welkin Weasels fanfiction. People write fics on almost everything, but at the time of writing nobody has written any WW fanfic at all, except this one. Please - let's try to get Sylver and company their own section at the good old Pit!  
Anyway, on with the story!


	2. Chapter One

**Chapter One.**  
  
Tagg sighed and decided to face the facts; he was lost. For the first time in his life, he had no idea where he was. Just as well that Nimbalo was there with him, though the harvest mouse would no doubt make fun of him later.

The two friends had been hiding about Redwall, picking off Eefera and Vallug's so-called sentries. Tagg snorted to himself. None of them would be able to hear an insane badger, let alone two woodlanders.So far, the two friends had disposed of both Rawback and Dagrab. In killing the latter, Nimbalo had "repossessed", as he put it, his father's battleaxe, and was carrying it with pride.The friendly woods of Mossflower seemed to have all but disappeared. . . there were many more pines than Tagg remembered, and the trees had lost their friendly feel.The otter sighed again and turned to his friend. "Face it, mate. . . we're lost." Nimbalo looked up at the otter.  
"You don't say? I realized we was lost 'alf an 'our ago!" the harvest mouse bragged."Well then, oh handsome golden one." Tagg still enjoyed calling his friend this. Nimbalo's face when he heard it was priceless. "Do you know where we are?" the otter said pointedly.The harvest mouse sagged exaggeratedly. "Not really," he admitted."All right then, mate, I'll go leftish, you go to the right. Stay within shouting distance, though. We're bound to find something familiar 'round here." The friends nodded resolutely and set out in different directions.The otter hadn't been walking for more than a few minutes when Nimbalo's scream pierced the air. The otter ran quickly and silently through the trees towards where the sound had come from; a small clearing.From the space between two trees, Tagg observed the scene. Nimbalo lay on the ground with three darts in his chest. The otter could see his friend breathing however, so he was relieved at that. The harvest mouse's battleaxe lay on the ground, a few paces away from where Tagg now stood.To the otter's horror, four weasels were walking towards his friend, in a loose half-circle, daggers in paw. They had no tattoos, not Juska, although one did have a curious white mark across his muzzle.Taking a quick course of action, the otter drew Sawney Rath's blade from his belt and threw it so it embedded itself handle-deep in front of the marked weasel's paws; between it and Nimbalo.Moments after, the otter grabbed Nimbalo's battleaxe from where it lay and flipped into the air, landing with his friend at his back, the four weasels facing him."Not one pawstep closer, mates," Tagg said in a menacingly low voice, brandishing the battleaxe."Oi!" one weasel with a patchy coat said. "That's our meal, we's caught 't fair 'n' square!"Tagg snarled, his tattoos rippling, making his face look quite barbaric. "And he's also my friend. Back off!""You can't be friends with a beast of burden. . . can you?" One weasel spoke, hesitantly."Beast of burden?" cried the otter. "He's an intelligent being! He's no slave!""Been too long alone, I'd say, chief," whispered the scruffy-looking weasel into the marked one's ear."I heard that remark, vermin," snarled Tagg."I apologize," the marked weasel said calmly. "We did not know that the mouse belonged to you." The otter's eyes widened. "He's owned by nobeast, save himself, perhaps. I'm no slaver."The scruffy-looking weasel glanced at him, as if to say he thought that Tagg was insane. The otter in question carefully gathered up Nimbalo in his forelimbs and picked up the blade from the earth, never taking his eyes off the weasels, and began to back away.Before he left the clearing, the tattooed otter growled a warning. "Don't follow us, vermin."Although all the weasels had excellent senses, the otter seemed to literally disappear; fade into the woodlands as he left. 


	3. Chapter Two

**Chapter Two.  
**  
As soon as the otter left, the marked weasel turned to the scruffy one for his opinion.

"What do you make of them, Scirf?" "Well," the weasel thought for a moment. "I don't think that 'es from 'round here; 'e had a different accent than most otters. And those terms he used, squire. . . anybeast, and vermin." The weasel puffed up his chest. "We're respectable mustelids! I don't quite know what t'make of 'im, squire. And that mouse - I could've sworn it was walkin' on its hind legs. Strange."

The marked weasel nodded and asked the nervous-looking weasel, "Mawk, what do you think of him?"

The weasel in question shifted from footpaw to footpaw. "I dunno, Sylver. All I know is that I think he very well could have killed us, judging by the expression on his face. . . but he didn't. I dunno why."

Sylver nodded again and spoke to the last weasel, a female. "Alysoun, I want you to follow that otter, best you can. I want to know what he's doing here. We'll head back to camp to get the others. . . try to leave a trail for us to follow. Oh, and don't let yourself be seen!"

"Aye, aye, Sylver!" With a cheeky grin, Alysoun was gone, quickly following the unknown otter.

* * *

Tagg had run swiftly for almost half an hour, until he judged that he was safely away from the weasels. The otter then found a clearing that would serve as a camp, making a small fire. 

He then turned to Nimbalo. The tattooed otter didn't know much about healing, but he knew that the darts had to be removed, and the wounds dressed. Tagg then placed his friend by the warming fire. The harvest mouse hadn't woken.

The otter's senses were on the alert, so he knew that a weasel was watching them from the edge of the clearing; not by seeing her, but by scent.

Tagg acted as if he was oblivious to her presence; he lay down next to the harvest mouse by the fire, curling around Nimbalo to protect his friend with his own body. However, one paw was grasping the hilt of Sawney's blade. . .

* * *

Alysoun-the-fleet had had a hard time keeping up with the otter; a first for her. She had to rely on tracking the stranger's scent for a while, until she'd discovered his temporary camp.  
  
The weasel had hovered around the edges of the clearing, watching, listening. . . and waiting. Finally, the otter seemed to have fallen asleep. Alysoun stealthily crept into the camp, observing. She decided to get a good look at the otter himself. She was as silent as she'd ever been, sneaking up behind the prone otter.

A few pawsteps away, she was suddenly on the ground. The otter hadn't in fact been sleeping, judging by the quick action of his rudder, and the fact that he was now on top of her, his dagger blade tickling her throat.


	4. Chapter Three

**Chapter Three.**  
  
"Why are you here?" Tagg snarled at his captive. "Come to finish off Nimbalo, eh?"

Alysoun shook her head. "I'm here because Sylver asked me to come." The otter raised his eyebrows."Why don't you kill me then?" the weasel asked. Really, she was scared out of her wits, but if she'd been captured by someone else, say Magellan the mercenary fox, Alysoun knew that she'd be dead right now. The jill was curious to know why she wasn't.The otter shook his head. "I'm not a killer. . . that's the vermin way out." Without taking his eyes off his captive, he securely tied her up with a long piece of cord."Why do you call us vermin? We are perfectly respectable mustelids. . . well, outlaw mustelids. . . but still! We are not vermin. . ."Tagg frowned whenever the weasel said "mustelid"; he had no idea what it meant, but he wasn't about to ask her.The otter sighed and ran a paw over his heavily tattooed face. "You know very well what vermin means, weasel. Vermin are you - rats, stoats, weasels, ferrets, foxes and other sly, murderous creatures."Alysoun was miffed at being classed with rats and stoats, and was about to say as much when the harvest mouse began to stir by the fire. "Tagg?" Nimbalo called hoarsely, and began to shiver.The otter gave Alysoun a murderous glance where she lay trussed up, and walked over to his friend. "Shh, mate. Tagg's here," the otter said as he stroked Nimbalo's forehead, calming him down.Alysoun was shocked. The harvest mouse had actually spoken! Then, an immediate feeling of guilt enveloped her, for if he was indeed an intelligent being, and he died of the wounds that she and her companions had given him, she really was what the otter had called her; vermin."Wot 'appened, mate?" asked Nimbalo, his breathing erratic."Well, remember how we split up to look for Redwall?" The harvest mouse nodded, painfully. "Y'were ambushed by weasels. . . threw some darts. I captured an inquisitive one. She's over there." The otter nodded towards the rope-wreathed form of Alysoun."Cowards," Nimbalo spat. "Couldn't take me one on one, eh, mate?"During this conversation, Alysoun had been listening intently to her surroundings. She knew that the rest of Sylver's band were approaching. She had also been listening to the conversation of her captors, and felt that she now had to speak out."Cowards?" she said. "We aren't cowards. We hunt because we need food, unlike the stoats, who hunt and kill for amusement and profit."Nimbalo sat up, slowly, wincing, and told her, "Well, this's one meal ye ain't going to get, vermin.""We didn't know that you were an intelligent being. All of the mice around here are incapable of thought. If we'd known, we'd never have attacked you." Alysoun paused. "If I could speak with my band, I'm sure that our healer, Wodehed, would gladly fix you. I see that you aren't much of a healer, otter."Tagg snorted at this implication, even though it was entirely true; he had next to no healing skills. Still, what could he do? They were lost in a strange land, the weasels seemed honourable enough, and Nimbalo did need medical attention.The tattooed otter nodded slowly and cut through the bonds on her forelimbs. "Call your friends."Alysoun put a paw to her mouth and gave an ear-splitting whistle. Immediately, eight weasels, including a tiny finger-weasel, entered the clearing. Their leader, the marked weasel Sylver, bow to Tagg and Nimbalo and spoke."We heard all that was said, and we apologise." He beckoned to another weasel. "This is Wodehed, our magician and healer."The weasel in question then went to work on a silent and surly Nimbalo. The weasels sat themselves down by the fire. Tagg seemed a giant in comparison to them; a monolith compared to the finger-weasel.Sylver introduced himself and his band, and afterwards, inquired of the otter's name. "I am Tagg; known to most vermin as Taggerung, the mighty warrior. My friend is Nimbalo the Slayer." Tagg proceeded to tell of his adventures.In turn, as promised, Sylver explained about the situation on Welkin, and their band's quest to find the humans and bring them back, to repair the dykes. Tagg smiled; humans were completely mythical, storybook monsters used to frighten naughty little ones. Had these legendary creatures ever existed, they were long extinct, and judging by the horrific tales told around campfires late at night, that was a good thing. Tagg hadn't the heart to tell the weasels his thoughts, though - they seemed so convinced that the humans could solve their problems.After all was said, Sylver spoke to both Nimbalo and Tagg, speaking for the whole band. "We would like to invite you to join our group, at least until you find your way to this 'Redwall' place." All of the weasels around the fire nodded eagerly.The otter glanced at his harvest mouse friend, who nodded in affirmation. The tattooed otter smiled his acceptance and shook the offered paw. "We promise to help in any way we can in your quest, and to protect our newfound comrades against the stoat threat." The otter glanced around. "I feel that it's my first duty as a member of your band to inform you of the fact that there seems to be a large group of stoats coming this way."All heads turned in the direction that Tagg pointed, just as the first stoat soldier appeared in a gap in between two trees. 


	5. Chapter Four

**Chapter Four.**  
  
The weasels would have been caught unawares, were it not for Tagg's timely warning. They quickly surrounded the stoat, and with practiced ease, bound and gagged him. They did the same with the next soldier, slinging him on the ground next to the other soldier.

The stoats were out of their element in the forest terrain; they were more used to evicting old jill weasels from their village homes than trekking about the woods at night.Soon, there was a total of a dozen stoat soldiers lying on the ground. The last stoat remained un-gagged; he had what seemed to be a burn mark on his otherwise perfectly white bib.As soon as he was captured, that stoat turned his head to Tagg, who had been sitting by the fire with Nimbalo, watching with amusement at how easily the stoats had been apprehended."Hey, otter!" the stoat said in a slightly hushed voice. Tagg looked at him, seemingly with little interest. "Why don't you paw these weasels over to me? You'll get a large reward. . . You can handle a few weasels, can't you? You're not part of the notorious Sylver's band, are you?"The tattooed otter shook his head slightly at the folly of the stoat soldier, and said to him, "I don't associate with vermin." He thought that that'd end their short "conversation", but the stoat interpreted his headshake as an affirmation that Tagg was on the stoat side, not realising that the otter's use of the word "vermin" referred to him. He whispered, "Come and untie me then," with a quick click of his teeth.The otter shook his head and, again, said, "I don't associate with vermin." The weasels teeth-clicked merrily at those words.Nimbalo burst into a long laugh, and all the teeth-clicking immediately stopped. "What's wrong, Nimbalo?" Wodehed asked quietly. "I've never heard that sound before. . . are you ill?"To the shock of the stoats, the harvest mouse shrugged off the magician's inquiring paw and spoke. "I laughed. Wot's wrong wit' that, eh?"Tagg had figured it out and gave a quiet chuckle. "Nimbalo. . . they don't laugh. Funny as it seems, they click their teeth!" His chuckle turned into booming laughter. "In all my seasons in the Juska clan, I've never heard of teeth clicking before!"

After he was through laughing, the otter looked at the stoat soldiers pensively. "Now. . . what to do with you. . ." He turned to Sylver. "What d'you think?"

The marked weasel thought for a moment, then said in a mocking voice. "I think we should return them to Prince Poynt - he does need his soldiers. . ." The outlaw band conferred in a huddle, out of the hearing of their prisoners."I have an idea. . ." Nimbalo spoke. "Y'said that the Prince lives in a castle, right? Well, let's bring 'em there in style!" The harvest mouse quickly outlined his plan, which was met with a lot of appreciative teeth clicking at the cleverness.Tagg and Nimbalo, along with Miniver and Mawk-the-doubter, stayed behind to guard their prisoners while the rest of the band went to get "supplies" from the nearby Thistle Hall. After about an hour, the weasels returned, each laden down with a forelimbful of brightly coloured cloths. Sylver was holding what seemed to be a large book, made out of wood. He set this down in front of the soldiers, who shrank back involuntarily in apprehension.The book-like box opened with a smooth click, and the contents were revealed to the stoats. 


	6. Chapter Five

**_Chapter Five._**

Face paints. Dozens of different shades, from the deepest black to the palest white.  
"What's that for?" asked the un-gagged stoat, a tad nervously.  
"To paint your face with, dear sheriff," Miniver told him sweetly. There was a pause.  
"Why?"  
"You'll find out soon enough!" The finger-weasel clicked her teeth in a giggle.  
One by one, the weasels picked up the stoats, covering them with brightly clashing, colourful clothes, completely covering their uniforms.  
Once "clothed", Nimbalo and Miniver painted outrageous symbols and designs all over the stoat's gagged faces, the two "artists" teeth-clicking and giggling all the while like Dibbuns. After the stoat's ordeal (in their own opinions), the band dressed themselves up, although with less face paint and matching clothes.  
"All right, mates, wot say we put 'em through their paces, eh?" Nimbalo was swathed in a large mahogany sheet, which covered his entire body, effectively masking his bandages and his otherwise conspicuous tail.  
The harvest mouse bared his teeth in a grin at the stoats and said one word: "Somersaults."  
The soldiers looked at each other in confusion. The mouse sighed and looked wordlessly to Tagg. The otter did a run-up and speedily executed a perfect somersault. Nimbalo cocked an eyebrow at the stoats and repeated, "Somersault."  
Miniver nudged the un-gagged stoat's back, saying with a click of her teeth, "Come on, Sheriff!" The stoat tried to stop his fall, but, surprisingly, he produced a very well done somersault.  
"Come on, mates!" urged Nimbalo. "The sooner y'do it, the sooner your paint comes off!" This motivated the stoats, and they began to do a few tentative somersaults. They didn't do nearly as well as the Sheriff.  
After half an hour of trying, the soldier's somersault skills seemed to satisfy Nimbalo. He paced in front of them regally, and addressed them.  
"Ye are all prob'ly wonderin' why you need to learn this. . ." The stoats were silent. He stopped walking and glared at each in turn. They all nodded vigorously.  
The mouse resumed pacing. "We're going to return you t'the Prince." All the stoats glanced at each other in relief.  
"But," Nimbalo continued, more sinister. "We've decided to 'ave a bit of fun first." The soldiers didn't like the look on Nimbalo's face at all. They were imagining scenes of torture, drowning perhaps; none would put it past the strange talking mouse.  
But the reality, in the stoat soldier's opinions, was much worse.


	7. Chapter Six

**Chapter Six.  
**  
Sheriff Falshed fumed silently under his breath as he did what he thought was the thousandth somersault that hour.

"When will this humiliation end?"The weasels had finally given him a gag, so he couldn't voice his complaints. Unfortunately for him, it was made from a part of Scirf's old tunic, and was encrusted lightly with ancient dung from his old profession. The sheriff wrinkled his nose at the thought.

The band of weasels had been driving him and his soldiers all morning, making them somersault all the way to their destination. Soon, Castle Rayn came into sight: a combined groan and cheer came from the stoats, slightly muffled from the gags. A cheer because they were nearly home, but a groan as the weasels made no move to remove either their costumes or the gags.

The talking mouse was skipping along in the front of the group, playing a cheerful tune on a reed pipe. This music was different from the traditional weasel folk songs, which were high and screechy-sounding; it was fuller in both sound and spirit.The curiously painted otter was at the back of the group, under the pretence of a strong-jack, carrying a large boulder on his shoulders that the sheriff was quite sure that four of his soldiers couldn't budge. Still, the otter managed to keep up, even threatening the stoats somewhat that if they lagged behind, he'd drop the boulder on their backs.When they approached the castle gates, the sheriff thought that the gate guards would realise their plight, or at least recognise his "stately" self. But the guards admitted the group with various teeth-clickings, calling to the other soldiers patrolling the battlements that entertainment had arrived for the prince.The group paraded through the streets, to the front gate of the castle. They entered the throne room to much applauding; the stoat aristocrats of the prince's court were all assembled.The weasels prodded the stoats into synchronized somersaulting in different patterns to the cheerful tune of Nimbalo's flute. The weasel band, meanwhile, were rhythmically swaying in a form of weasel dance to the same music.Soon, the song was done, and the weasels danced to the front door.All according to the plan.This left Tagg and companion, as well as all the stoats, in the throne room.The otter addressed the prince, using a fake accent, as he set down the boulder with a thump that reverberated around the room. Any of the stoat aristocrats who'd originally believed the stone on his shoulders to the be fake immediately squashed their opinions."Oh, mighty Prince," Tagg said with a bow. "My companions and I have travelled far to your courts to give you this presentation.Here Nimbalo continued with a flourishing bow. "We hope that you 'ave enjoyed thyselves."Here, Prince Poynt clicked his teeth; his overly-large belly shook. "Indeed I have, performers. You're better jesters than my own Pompom!"At this comment, a normally cheerful looking weasel in jester attire emerged from behind the Prince's throne with a glower on his face.Nimbalo grinned at this. "For sure, good Prince! But attend here! Do you recognise. . ." here he paused dramatically, "this stoat?"With this comment, the harvest mouse swiftly tore off the colourful material that covered the sheriff's uniform, removing the gag as he did so.The prince studied the uniform and painted face of the stoat with a dim look in his eyes."Indeed I don't," he said finally."Prince Poynt! It's me, your loyal second in command, Sheriff Falshed!""Why are you a jester then?" the Prince asked stupidly.The sheriff gave a sigh. "Your soldiers and I were captured by the weasel Sylver's band, as well as this otter and his-" the prince cut him off."What?! There aren't any weasels here!" His sister whispered in his ear, and after a minute, he nodded slowly."Guards! Seize the painty-faced otter and that. . ." The ermine stoat squinted at Nimbalo. "Thing," he finished.His sister again whispered into his ear. "Oh," he added, "and you might as well untie the other soldiers while you're at it."During these orders, Tagg ran to Nimbalo and handed the harvest mouse his battleaxe, which had been concealed on the otter's back, under the silks.Pompom then joyfully descended on Nimbalo and Tagg, battering them with his beloved mouse-bladder on a stick. Fortunately for the two, but not for the jester, the guards were all on the ramparts outside, out of hearing and sight.Tagg swiftly drew Sawney's blade and popped the jester's "pride and joy". Nimbalo growled at the weasel, baring his incisors at the deflated looking jester, who was staring dumbly at his even more deflated looking balloon.The otter ignored the weasel's expression, and appealed to the Prince; he was in no mood to slay dozy guards. . . it just wasn't a part of the plan."Hear us out, oh Prince. Your soldiers have come to no harm, all we wish is to have a place to live for a while." After a pause, he added, "In freedom." The weasels had warned him about the nature of the Prince; knowing him, he'd imprison them in the dungeons and expect them to thank him for it.The prince sneered at him. "And if I choose to just send you to the dungeons? What of that?" Nimbalo raised his eyebrows."Let us just say that that would be a very . . . difficult task for your sun-lazed guards. If they attempt to do so, we will slay many of them, I believe, before they succeed in detaining us." The mouse gave his axe an experimental swish, and his companion licked his knife blade menacingly."Point taken," the Prince said, and with an unusual amount of understanding (for him) he ordered, "You may have a room, but you mustn't leave the castle walls, neither will you kill any stoats." Tagg noticed that he said nothing of weasels, but didn't comment."Also, I would like you to put on an act, every week at an appointed time, for my entertainment. Do you agree to the terms?"Tagg bowed, and motioned for Nimbalo to do so as well. "Thank you, Prince," the otter said graciously.  
Princess Sibiline again whispered in her brother's ear. The ermine prince pointed to a random creature among the stoat aristocrats."Spinfer, you are to show these two around the castle and its grounds. Dismissed," he ordered. The weasel Spinfer nodded and motioned for Tagg and Nimbalo to follow him.Once they were safely away from the castle, up on the ramparts away from the guards, he spoke to them."That was, ah . . . interesting, the way you brought in my master and the soldiers.""Your master?""I am the sheriff's personal servant. My name is Spinfer. Who exactly are you?""Pleased to meet you, I'm sure," replied Tagg. He did not approve of any beast calling another "master", but decided that now wasn't the time to press the issue. "My name's Tagg, and this is my matey Nimbalo the Slayer."Spinfer raised an eyebrow at this. "The Slayer? That's an odd na-" He was interrupted by the harvest mouse, who bared his teeth.

"It's m'name. . . is that a problem?" The weasel shook his head, but stared at the teeth.

"Your teeth are incredibly rodent-like. . . if I may ask, what kind of mustelid are you?"Nimbalo snorted and looked away. "Inquisitive type, ain't you? I ain't no must'lid. I'm an 'arvest mouse. Always was, always will be."Spinfer was thoroughly astonished, but tried not to show it. His eyes widened, but he gave no other outward sign of surprise."What? What do you mean? You can't be a mouse, mice don't talk. . ."Tagg was uncomfortable with the situation. "We're not from around here," he said shortly.The weasel looked unsatisfied with this reply. He took a deep breath, preparing for a barrage of questions, but Nimbalo interrupted him with a paw pointed at the horizon."'Scuze me, mates, but what the Hellgates is that?" Tagg glanced over, and did a double take.The hills on the horizon were completely covered in swarms of marsh rats. . . armed to the teeth. 


	8. Chapter Seven

**Chapter Seven.**  
  
Tagg and Nimbalo were in the throne room, along with Spinfer. They had told Poynt and Sibiline about the rats, and the royal stoats had gone to organise the army - or so they said. Tagg was fairly sure that Poynt was actually leaving to hide in his room and have a nervous breakdown.

Spinfer stared at him."What do you mean, you've never heard of these rats? Surely you know of the rat barbarians of the unnamed marshes?""Well, we did say we're not from around here," said Nimbalo. Tagg shrugged. Spinfer sighed."It looks like I'm going to have to start at the beginning. The rats used to be harmless - they stayed where they were, in the marshes of the north. However, an evil stoat sorcerer named Flaggatis was banished there, not long ago. He made the rat hordes think that we mustelids should be wiped off the face of the earth - all except himself, of course. He has attempted to start a war between mustelids and rats several times - let's hope this time he is unsuccessful again."Spinfer continued with his gruesome tales of Flaggatis as the group wandered out into the castle bailey. Weasels and stoats alike looked up briefly at them, then went back to whatever they were doing. Nimbalo jogged on ahead of the other two.Suddenly, as he rounded a corner, Tagg heard Nimbalo scream. This was in itself a rare occurrence - Nimbalo was almost never afraid of anything. He rushed to see what had frightened his friend.Nimbalo was shivering with horror, pointing at a large low-fenced enclosure, which was apparently full of walking furballs with pink tails. On closer inspection, however, Tagg saw that they were mice - but how different from the mice he knew. These mice walked on all fours and wore no clothing, but worse than that, they seemed to be completely mindless. They snorted and squeaked as they fought to guzzle vegetable stuff from a trough. Tagg felt sick.Spinfer hurried up behind the shocked pair."What is going on?" he asked. He looked to where Nimbalo was pointing."Why are you afraid of the mice? They can't be that much different from the mice anywhere else. They are not going to hurt you."Tagg put his paw around Nimbalo's shoulders. The weasel peasants and stoat soldiers had started to stare at the weird cloaked creature who was scared of mice.Spinfer sighed again."We had better take your friend indoors, Tagg. I hope shock doesn't set in."The two managed to pull Nimbalo out of sight of the mouse pen, at which point he relaxed."What is wrong with you?" Spinfer asked irritably._Perfect,_ he thought. _Poynt has saddled me with a pair of lunatics, one of whom panics at the sight of farm animals.___   
  
"Well," Tagg said, "when Nimbalo told you he was a mouse, he wasn't joking. The mice where we come from talk and think like you and me. We had a similar problem earlier - he nearly got killed and eaten."Nimbalo had mostly calmed down by now, and removed the mahogany-coloured cloak that, until now, had helped to mask his species. Spinfer saw clearly for the first time that this mysterious creature was quite definitely a mouse.

* * *

Meanwhile, Sylver's band had been travelling through the woods, heading for Thistle Hall, where they could seek refuge with their friend Lord Haukin. It was a path they had trod many times before, but somehow they had taken a wrong turning, and were now hopelessly lost."There's a familiar tree," commented Icham drily. "Haven't we passed it three times now, unless there are three identical trees in this area? And that's odd, because I thought I knew every tree around here, and I've never seen that one before today.""Sylver, I'm scared," whined Mawk. Sylver ground his teeth in irritation."Wait, I think there's a clearing ahead. We can stop there and get our bearings," he called back to the group.As the weasels reached the clearing, they gasped and stared, not quite believing their eyes.In front of them was an enormous red sandstone building - the place Tagg had described.Redwall Abbey. 


	9. Chapter Eight

**Chapter Eight.**  
  
The weasels blinked with surprise. Redwall Abbey truly was an impressive sight.

The buildings they were used to were built to a scale more than twice the size of the abbey - they had been made for humans, in the dim and distant past of Welkin - yet somehow Redwall seemed bigger. The beautiful red sandstone almost gleamed in the sunlight. The small group of vermin had scattered when Tagg and Nimbalo started picking them off, so nothing disturbed the peace of the perfect scene. The weasels held their collective breath, awestruck."We'd better leave," Sylver announced, breaking the tension."Why?" asked Bryony."Because, from what Tagg told me, these creatures are not fond of weasels, and since they've just been fighting off a group of 'vermin', they won't be pleased to see us." He pointed to the walltop, and for the first time, the other weasels noticed the creatures there - obviously defenders. The band took the point and walked quietly away into the trees, out of sight of the creatures on watch on the wall.Within half an hour, they were lost again. None of them, even Icham and Bryony, who both had excellent senses of direction and tracking skills, remembered passing the areas they were walking through. There were no pawprints to show they had been there - if indeed they had. Luke, the holy weasel, started to pray quietly. Mawk looked as if he was about to have a heart attack."There's magic at work here," Wodehed said. "Be careful. I don't know what's going on, but I don't like it.""How do you know it's magic?" asked Mawk. "Couldn't it just be bad luck?""Unlikely. We've lived in woodlands all our lives and we've never got lost this badly before. We know all the country from County Elleswhere to Castle Rayn, and this isn't anywhere near there. Anyway, I'm a trained wizard - I know the signs when I see them. There's magic in the air here, and bad magic at that.""Well, what are we supposed to _do?!"_ shouted Sylver."I have no idea," responded Wodehed in a calming tone. "I don't even know exactly what happened. I certainly don't know how to undo it." Sylver sighed."Sorry. I'm just frustrated - and more than a little scared.""Can't yer just use yer magic, squire?" Scirf asked Wodehed. "If magic got us 'ere, can't it get us back?" Wodehed shook his head."My magic is, um. . . temperamental, as you know," he said, admitting his weakness for once, "and since I don't know what sort of magic brought us here, I can't find a reversal spell in the first place. I would most likely make it worse somehow. It may work, but we can't take the risk."Sylver didn't say anything - the wizard would either have hurt feelings, or attempt something and prove the hopelessness of his magic, which would be painful for all concerned. He remembered earlier incidents involving Wodehed's dabbling with the occult and winced."I suppose we could always try to find another wizard or witch and persuade them to help," Luke interjected."Possibly," replied Wodehed. "I don't know if it'll work. Maybe the problem can't be solved, and even if it can it might be difficult to persuade a complete stranger to help."The weasels took a few seconds to digest these words."Well, we can't stay here all day," Sylver said briskly, preventing the band from musing too long on their possible fate. "We should head away from Redwall - hopefully we'll find some of our own kind that can help. Surely they can't all be as evil as Tagg made them out to be. They'll help fellow weasels in distress."_I hope,_ he thought. 


	10. Chapter Nine

**Chapter Nine.**  
  
Spinfer gently pulled Nimbalo's ear. Puzzlement clouded his face and he tugged harder. No - it felt real.

"You. . . you're really a mouse? It isn't a costume?""Correct, matey, and I'll thank ye to get OFF me. That really hurts!" The weasel released Nimbalo and stepped back, shaking his head in disbelief. He turned to Tagg."You must be a powerful wizard. Your mouse looks so real - but I can spot an illusion a mile away." He smirked and winked, then his expression changed to curiosity. "How did you do it? A disguise spell, I assume. . ." Tagg cut Spinfer off abruptly."It's not magic. I'm not any sort of wizard, and Nimbalo's as real as you or me.""Oh, you expect me to believe that? Look, if this is part of your show I'll pretend I didn't notice. I won't tell.""It's not an act. It's true," Tagg told the weasel, feeling exasperated. "If you want to believe that it is, that's fine by me, but I am not a wizard and Nimbalo really is a talking mouse."

Spinfer shrugged. If this circus otter was in denial about someone seeing through his magic tricks, all well and good - he could sulk, but tricks don't last forever. He wondered what sort of act the "mouse" illusion would be involved in. Whatever it was, it was sure to be impressive. It looked like the strange performers would be in the prince's favour for quite a while. Or possibly not - the prince needed distractions more than ever during times of war, and the otter's tricks could run out faster now. Spinfer didn't like to think about what would happen to Tagg and Nimbalo when they did, but he was sure it would be painful.

"Very well. I believe you," he lied. "I - are you alright?"Nimbalo was standing stiffly, with a blank expression on his face. Tagg waved a paw in front of the mouse's eyes."Nimbalo? What's wrong?" Nimbalo attempted to reply, but since all he could produce was a shrill squeak, it wasn't much help. Suddenly, he shook his head and looked up at his friend, apparently back to normal."What happened just then?" demanded the concerned Tagg. "You sort of. . . blanked out for a minute.""I dunno," replied Nimbalo, scratching his head and pulling his cloak back on - no need to announce his species to all and sundry just yet. "It was kinda like fainting while still being awake, if you see wot I mean. I could still see and hear, but I sort of could't tell what I was seeing and hearing. I can't really explain it. It was creepy.""Well, you seem to be alright now," said Spinfer, looking slightly puzzled. "If it happens again we should take you to see a healer. It could be caused by something unpleasant."The three creatures thought little of Nimbalo's "episode" at the time, believing it to be something unusual but apparently harmless. Perhaps they should have worried more. In Welkin, mice were simply dumb beasts. Nimbalo, as an intelligent Mossflower mouse, was out of place. He was slowly transforming into an unintelligent Welkin mouse. 


	11. Chapter Ten

**Chapter 10.**  
  
The nine weasels trudged through Mossflower, heading as far away from the Abbey as possible. They kept their footpaws moving automatically, trying not to brood on their situation. Scirf started to sing the old Mountain Hiker Song.

_"Oh then there were nine, there were nine, there were nine, and no one was really to blame, but one by one they dropped to their deaths, oh ain't it a crying shame-"_Icham poked him heavily in the ribs."Shut up!" he hissed. "We don't need reminding that we're in danger. We're unlikely to fall off cliffs here, but there could be any number of things which could kill us. And do you want to attract attention from possible enemies?" Scirf wisely shut up.Bryony suddenly stopped and twitched her whiskers, sniffing the air."Sylver, I can smell something. It's. . . cooking fires. Roasting meat." The vegetarian jill shuddered at the thought. Bryony was extremely sensitive and hated the idea of eating flesh. Since weasels are primarily carnivores this had at first given her a lot of health problems, but she managed to survive on vegetables. She spent most mealtimes sitting several yards away from her friends, quietly eating her vegetables and trying to avoid looking at their food.The other weasels raised their snouts, trying to pinpoint the scent."It's coming from that direction," Luke said, pointing. "Should we follow it? It might be dangerous, but if we don't try and find other creatures we could be in just as much trouble.""True," agreed Alysoun. "I've just realised how hungry I am - maybe they'll give us some food. I know we don't like to beg, but we don't know what's safe to hunt here. We could manage on plants for a while, but we don't know these woodlands, so we might not be able to find enough. We certainly don't want a repeat of the Nimbalo fiasco. Maybe voles or sparrows talk here too. I for one don't want to risk it.""So you're saying the creatures responsible for the cooking fires may kill us, but if we don't take the risk we'll be dead soon anyway," pointed out the cynical Icham."Alysoun's right, Icham," Sylver said. "We should try to talk to these creatures. Most likely they're our own kind, they should help a fellow weasel in need. If they do turn out to be enemies, we've gotten out of worse scrapes. At the very least we'll find out where we are."The band followed their noses towards the scent.

* * *

Back at Castle Rayn, Tagg and Nimbalo were also looking for food. The castle was in uproar, so nobeast had noticed them sneak into the kitchens. They heard various snippets of panicked gossip around them."We'll all be murdered!" shrieked a scrawny weasel jill."No, don't panic, stay calm," a jack told her. "Those no-good rodents are no match for our soldiers."Another jack laughed and made a comment Tagg couldn't hear. Whatever he'd said, it triggered a huge argument. None of the weasels even looked towards the otter and mouse."Go easy on the food, Nim," Tagg warned him quietly. "It'll probably have to be rationed within a day or two."Tagg tried not to look at the whole dead mice and voles, obviously for eating, hanging by their footpaws from the rafters. He hoped Nimbalo wouldn't see them, although since Nimbalo was currently investigating a pot of vegetable stew the chances of him noticing anything else were very slim.Tagg picked up a lump of something dark brown and sticky from a plate and chewed it. Not bad. It tasted meaty - some sort of fish?"What are these?" he asked a passing kitchen-weasel."Roast slugs, sir."Tagg managed to spit it out without anyone seeing."Stick to the veggibles, Tagg old mate," Nimbalo advised him, helping himself to some stew. "Or at least ask wot summat is before stuffin' it in yer mouth!""You don't have to tell me," Tagg groaned, wiping his mouth on his forelimb.At this point, Nimbalo had the misfortune to notice a fly next to his ear. He waved his paws at it, chasing it away, and it flew upwards. Naturally, his eyes followed it."Go on, gerrout o' it. . . what the. . .?"Tagg groaned as Nimbalo stared at the dead mice and voles. The mouse started to tremble and produced a shrill whining noise. Several of the kitchen-weasels left off what they were doing and stared at him."Is your friend hurt, sir?" asked a timid-looking jill."I don't think so. . ." said Tagg worriedly.Nimbalo felt dizzy and sick. He heard voices around him, but could not make out any words; it was as if he was listening underwater. He clutched his head and turned round slowly. The faces of the animals surrounding him were blurred, but he could still tell that they were. . .WEASELS! He was surrounded by weasels! _PREDATORS!_He tried to scream, but all that came out was a squeak. He skittered around on all fours, looking desperately for an escape route."Nimbalo! Stop that, you're scaring me!" Tagg shouted, trying to keep the panic out of his voice. Nimbalo spun round - and saw the escape route he needed.Ducking between Tagg's hind legs, the mouse fled. 


	12. Chapter Eleven

**Chapter Eleven.**  
  
The weasels had found the Juska camp.

The tribesfolk stared and muttered as the strange weasel band entered the clearing, but didn't try to stop them. They acted as if Sylver and friends were beneath their notice, ignoring them in favour of tending the fires. Bird carcasses turned on spits, giving off the smell the weasels had followed. Bryony didn't dare to look at the spits, or the piles of feathers and bones next to most of the fires. The rest of the band found themselves drooling. Mawk's stomach gurgled loudly and he whimpered.The band tried not to stare at the bizarre tribal tattoos covering the animal's faces. Each beast had wavy green lines across his or her brow and a yellow circle on each cheek. Some of them had obviously had these markings made over old ones that looked like Tagg's - a double row of red dots on either side of a black line which ran down the snout."Umm. . . hello? Can you help us?" Sylver hesitantly asked a stoat. "We're lost. . . "The stoat looked up from his stewpot and gave Sylver a long, blank stare. The weasel stepped back, slightly unnerved."Alright, alright. I only asked if you could help."The stoat shrugged, muttered and went back to poking the fire. Sylver tried again."Can I speak to your leader? Please can you tell us where to find him?"Miniver cleared her throat loudly."Or her?""Ruggan Bor ain't gonna speak wid you," the stoat informed them contemptuously, without looking up. "Iffen yer needs to speak to anybeast, try Grissoul and Ermath. The clan seers - can't miss 'em, nutty ol' vixens, both in funny clothes an' Grissoul's got a twitchy eye. Though I doubts if either of 'em wants to chat to a bunch of raggedytag weasels. Not even Juska, are yer?""What?""Well, look at yer. No way are any of those tattoos from any clan I've ever seen, and y'ain't even tried to make 'em match. More like clowns than decent Juska beasts."Sylver realised the band still had their face paint and performer's outfits on. He had to admit, they did look rather strange."Just a gang of scruffy wanderers widout a clan, ain't yer?" The stoat turned his back in a way which suggested that was all the help the weasels were going to get."This place isn't too different," whispered Icham. "Stoats are downright unpleasant here too.""Still, he did say we should talk to the seers," Wodehed pointed out. "Seers are witches, they can use magic - maybe she can help us."

* * *

The stoat had been rude, but he was at least truthful; Grissoul and Ermath were not easy to miss. The old vixens sat hunched over a small pile of assorted objects - bones, shells, pebbles - muttering to easch other, or possibly themselves. Various necklaces and bracelets jangled and clacked as one leaned forwards to pick up a pawful of the junk at her footpaws. She scattered the stuff and examined it closely. This was obviously Grissoul, as one of her eyes rolled around constantly, unnerving the weasel band as they approached her."Newcomers. Whaddya want?" she barked suddenly. Sylver automatically jumped back a pace."We. . . we're lost, and we were hoping you could help," he said. The vixen scowled."We don't help nobeast for free, laddie," replied the other fox - Ermath, the stoat had called her. "Def'nitely not strangers like you. Come wandering into the camp an' expect somethin' for nothin' - ha!""We do have a little money," said Alysoun. "We're willing to pay you for your effort.""Mun-ee?"Luke reached into the pouch at his belt and produced three groats. Ermath took the coins and examined them closely."What on earth d'ye carry these things around for? Useless lumps of metal - not even gold, just plain brass! Pretty pictures on 'em, though. Some sort of lucky charms?"The weasels were taken aback, and struggled unsuccessfully to find words. This was weird. Had these vixens never seen a coin before?"Never mind, they're pretty enough," said the Seer, putting the money in her pouch. "We could use 'em for our fortune telling.""Will they suffice as payment?" Luke asked her."Probably not," replied Grissoul. "Depends what thou be wanting." 


	13. Chapter Twelve

**Chapter Twelve.  
**  
Back at Castle Rayn, the various problems were getting worse.

When Nimbalo ran out of the kitchens, it had taken two hours of searching to track him down. Tagg had eventually found him wandering the corridors, looking faintly bemused. The mouse could not remember what had happened. Both creatures were disturbed by this, and at Spinfer's suggestion had taken drastic measures in case of a recurrence.Nimbalo scratched absent-mindedly at the collar around his neck. It had previously been used on a guard-shrew and he was sure the wretched thing was carrying fleas. The idea was that if he had another of his "episodes", Tagg would hold the leash and prevent him from escaping until he was back to normal. The problem was, though the incident in the kitchen had not recurred yet, the leash kept getting caught on everything in sight and tripping creatures up.At the moment, the duo were climbing the stairs to the north tower, where the castle's healers resided. Or rather, trying to climb the stairs."Lend us a paw 'ere matey!" Nimbalo called. He hopped up and down, trying to reach the step. "I don't know wot idiot built these stairs - why the Hellgates did they make 'em so flippin' big?"Tagg was eventually forced to pick his friend up bodily and carry him up. The stairs were certainly a puzzle. Admittedly weasels were larger than mice, but it would still be an effort for them, and the staircase seemed pretty big even by otter standards. Still, he'd never actually been in a building before, as far as he could remember - maybe all stairs were built like that. It still seemed stupid to him, but what did he know?He was panting by the time he reached the top. The steps were not only ridiculously big, there were a surprising number of them. The tower must be higher than most trees. How did the weasels and stoats manage? It wasn't as if not many of them needed the healers. It was only a day since the rats had turned up, but several injuries had been caused already. Although, oddly enough, not a single death. Tagg guessed the stoats were more competent than they looked._But then,_ he thought, _I suppose it isn't possible to be _less_ competent than they look. Bunch of idiots, if you ask me._He put the mouse down and knocked on the door. It was opened by a stoat jill in a nun's habit, who ignored Nimbalo completely and smiled up at Tagg."Yes, sir?""I was wondering if you could take a look at my friend here. He's been acting, um, oddly. We thought it might be caused by a headwound or something, and we need somebeast to check. He doesn't seem to have any wounds, or any other symptoms, but I'm hopeless at healing, so I thought it best to ask you just in case."The healer looked at Nimbalo. He was still wearing his cloak and face paint, so all she saw was a small, vaguely animal-like object on a leash, covered by a large brown cloth. Possibly a very small weasel, she thought, but why the leash?"Has he acted violently?" she asked nervously, backing off a few steps."Talk to me, why doncha?" challenged Nimbalo. "I'm the one with the problem, y'know!""Er, I'll put that down as a yes, shall I?" said the flustered healer."NO!""No, he hasn't been violent," Tagg said firmly. He gave Nimbalo a look which said; _Don't make trouble, alright?_ The mouse scowled."Uh, well, erm - you'd better come in," the jill managed to say.The two friends entered the sickroom.

* * *

Nearly two hours later, Tagg was sitting in the sickroom, feeling bored.He and Nimbalo had made several attempts to explain the "talking mouse trick" to the nuns, and eventually the frustrated Nimbalo had shouted at them to "stop asking stupid questions and do their job". This had not endeared him to the healers, but they did at least stop demanding to know how the "spell" worked.A stoat healer appeared from behind a screen, closely followed by Nimbalo, still on the leash."Well, there doesn't seem to be anything medically wrong with him," she told Tagg. "I saw the wounds on his chest - a very professional bandaging job, I must say.""Oh, that wasn't me," Tagg said. "That was. . . a friend of mine." Announcing that he was involved with a group of notorious outlaws would mean trouble, so he didn't mention Wodehed's name."Well anyway, apart from that he seems fine. I can't find any signs that he. . ." The jill trailed off. Nimbalo was curled up in a very uncomfortable-looking position, apparently trying to scratch the back of his head with his footpaw."See what I meant by acting oddly?" Tagg groaned. The nuns all stared. Nimbalo twisted round and started trying to lick himself."I. . . don't think this comes under the heading of a medical problem," a healer managed to say."So? What is it?" Tagg asked irritably. The healer sighed."You really aren't going to like this . . ." 


	14. Chapter Thirteen

**Chapter Thirteen**  
  
". . . and so we ended up here," finished Luke.

"Yeah. So?""So, we were hoping you could help us," Sylver said.Both vixens stared blankly at the weasels for several seconds. Ermath's shoulders began to shake. Grissoul's eye rolled even more wildly than usual. Soon both Seers were literally rolling on the ground, laughing hysterically. It was not a pleasant sound. They cackled like chickens and kicked the air, clutching their sides."Excuse me, what precisely do you find so funny?" Luke asked them coldly. Grissoul managed to control her laughter enough to sit up and speak understandably."Well, that story was worth more than thy silly little trinkets.""Aye, I almost thought ye must've really been to this Welkin place," Ermath added, still snickering. "Ye didn't 'ave to pretend it was real, y'know.""But. . .""The Juska have always enjoyed a good yarn," interrupted Grissoul. "Our leader might even help if thee would tell to him this tale.""Help us how?""By not immediately slicing thy heads from thy necks," said Grissoul in a suddenly dangerous tone. "The Lord Ruggan Bor is easily angered, so I would advise thee to cooperate."She whistled shrilly, and suddenly the weasel band found themselves surrounded by a wall of blades.

* * *

"Are you sure this is what's 'appening?" Nimbalo asked, fiddling nervously with the tip of his tail. Coming round to find that he was trying to lick under his own tail had been most unpleasant, and what the healers had told him was not good news. Understandably he was more than a little frightened."Yes, it's happened before. A bad shock can cause a creature to stop talking and thinking - they end up with little more mind than a beetle or fish, poor things. Those mouse-things must have frightened you enough to start it off," Tagg said."How d'ye know it's 'appened before? It's just a legend. Nobeast's ever seen a creature this 'as 'appened to, it's always their brother's friend's auntie who knew somebeast who saw it. From a distance, usually.""It's in some of the old folk tales too. Warlords would capture beasts and torture them till they lost their minds. The victims would be set loose during a battle or to track enemies. Singlemindedly vicious by all accounts, and cannibalistic too.""Did any o' the old folk tales mention a cure?""I don't think so. And those nuns weren't much help - they just said if I left you as a mouse for so long it wasn't surprising you were going strange. They still won't believe I'm not a wizard, they think I can just shout 'abracadabra' and turn you 'back' into whatever. How stupid are they?"Nimbalo did not reply. He chewed his tail and stared off into space."If we could find a real wizard," he said at last, "d'ye think 'e'd be able to cure me?"Tagg opened his mouth to say "Wizards don't exist", but the look on his friend's face stopped him. The look wasn't even fear anymore, it was sick, hopeless terror."I don't wanna end up dumb as a beetle, Tagg," the mouse whimpered. "I don't wanna be eaten.""Maybe it'll wear off on its own," Tagg suggested, not knowing what else to say. He patted Nimbalo on the back. "Look, if we find any possible way of helping you, we'll use it. Maybe there is a way." Nimbalo looked slightly calmer."It's gotta be worth a try, right?" 


	15. Chapter Fourteen

**Chapter Fourteen.**  
  
It was easier not to dwell on the problem indoors. Most of the rooms were so hot and stuffy it put the occupants into a soporific trance. It was high summer, but fires blazed in every grate and, Tagg had noticed, Prince Poynt was still wearing a thick velvet robe on top of his ermine coat (and his thick layer of body fat). Yet the stoat still shivered noticeably.

"What is that idiot thinking?" Tagg muttered to Nimbalo as they staggered sleepily through the roasting heat of the throne room. "He'll get heatstroke if he goes on like this!" He was careful to say it very quietly. He had worked out that Poynt was stupid as soon as he met him, but he also gathered that the prince would not hesitate to throw them in the dungeons at the slightest provocation."I . . . dunno," Nimbalo managed to say through a yawn. "Mebbe he catches colds really easy?""I'd rather have the colds.""Hey! You, circus otter!"Tagg turned to see the weasel jester Pompom, still cuddling the remains of his mouse-bladder-on-a-stick. Pompom's lip curled contemptuously. _He's jealous,_ thought Nimbalo."What do you want?""The sheriff wishes to see you both. He's by the north wall. Don't know why he wants to see a pair of clowns, but he seemed very insistent." Pompom turned on his heel and strutted off. Tagg looked at Nimbalo and shrugged."S'pose we'd better go, then."

* * *

The actual fighting had slowed down a lot by now. The rats seemed to have withdrawn far enough to be out of range, where they could hold Castle Rayn under siege.Sheriff Falshed turned to see the otter and his strange little friend."You carry a blade, do you not?" he barked at Tagg, looking at both beasts as if they had just crawled out from under a rock. The incident with Sylver's band was still fresh in his mind."That's true. Why do you want to know?""Have you ever used it, or is it just for your circus act?""I have fought with it, yes.""Do you have any experience in warfare?""Not really, I've only ever been involved in single combat. I'm a quick learner, though. Why? Do you want us to fight for you, is that it?"Falshed sighed. He needed every fighter he could get. If that meant involving this, this. . . _barbarian,_ so be it."No, I want you to use that knife as a roasting spit. Yes, fool, we want you to fight for us. I wouldn't ask otherwise." Nimbalo winced at the mention of roasting. Luckily Falshed didn't notice."Do you know anything of tactics and strategy, or does your expertise extend no further than knowing which end of a sword to stab things with?" Tagg resisted the urge to say something extremely nasty to the stoat."I know nothing about defending a castle, I've lived in the woodlands all my life. As far as I can remember," he amended, thinking of the strange redstone building which haunted his dreams. If he had lived in this building at any time, he had been too young to recall anything about it now."We're good at spying," piped up Nimbalo. Tagg looked at him in surprise. Nimbalo surreptitiously nudged his friend, as a sign not to say anything. Falshed raised an eyebrow."Really?""Ho, yes," Nimbalo said proudly. "We can sneak through the rat camps quicker'n you can say knife and be back wid vital information. Just you say the word, Sheriff.""I shall speak to the prince," said the stoat in question coldly. "You may leave."Once out of earshot of the sheriff, Tagg looked incredulously at Nimbalo."What on earth was all that about?""A win-win situation, ole chum," the mouse informed him. "We get out of here, and he gets rid of us.""Good idea, Nimbalo," Tagg agreed."Yeah, well . . . better use my brain while I still got it, right?" The mouse laughed nervously."Don't say that! We'll get you better. I promise we will. Somehow." 


	16. Chapter Fifteen

**Chapter Fifteen.**

The weasels, flanked by a dozen guards and bound paw and claw, knelt at the footpaws of Ruggan Bor. The golden-furred fox looked down at them in much the same way he would look at a beetle - giving the impression he would lose interest and crush them at any second. Sylver found himself wishing the fox would blink. The way he stared constantly was somewhat frightening. Mawk was trembling and chewing his lip.

"What are these?" the fox barked suddenly at Grissoul.

"Some gang of travelling clowns, lord," Grissoul replied. "They just wandered into the camp. Dunno where they came from."

"Do they carry weapons?"

"None save a few darts and slings, milord," Ermath said, dropping the weasel's confiscated weapons at the chief's footpaws. "They say they came seeking aid."

"Is this true?" Ruggan Bor demanded, pointing his sabre at Sylver's throat.

"Yes, it's true. We are harmless travellers, we only came here to ask for directions. We mean no harm to your tribe. What harm could we cause, even if we wanted to?" The fox nodded and sheathed his blade.

"This is true. Nine beasts could do nothing against a tribe this size. But how do I know you are not scouts from a much larger force? The Juska chieftains are always battling among themselves, you may be spies sent by another chief." The fox paced up and down in front of the weasels, pawing at the hilt of his sabre. He stopped in front of Luke, who started mouthing a prayer.

"Remove that make-up," the fox instructed. "All of you." The weasels scrubbed their faces with the sleeves of their clown outfits, too scared to ask why. Ruggan Bor leaned forward and examined their smudgy facial fur.

"No tattoos," he proclaimed. "So you are not Juska tribesfolk. Where do you come from?"

Sylver's mind raced. He could hardly tell the fox the real story - if the reaction of Grissoul and Ermath was anything to go by, he would not be believed. If the chieftain was not told a believable story, the weasels would probably be killed. He settled for the simplest and safest way out.

"Oh, we've come from many places," he said, trying to keep his voice light and cheerful. "Here and there, hither and yon. We go where our paws take us." He picked up two pebbles and attempted to juggle them, doing surprisingly well considering his paws were tied together. The band looked faintly surprised, but soon realised what he was up to and tried to look as if they had planned this.

Mind racing, Sylver continued, still juggling. "I know one as great as you must keep an eye open for spies at all times, I bear no ill will to you for searching us - and let's face it, what could I do about it if I did? Unbind us now and let us perform a show for you and your tribe - will that buy the information we need?" The other weasels dared not actually say anything, but their expressions read "please?" The golden fox seemed supremely unimpressed, but one or two of the guards looked interested. The weasels held their breath.

Finally, Ruggan Bor nodded to a rat.

"Cut their bonds," he ordered. The rat obliged, and the weasels gratefully stood up and shook some life back into their paws. Alysoun winked at Sylver, then sighed and fell backwards dramatically. A Juskabor weasel dropped his cutlass and caught Alysoun as she collapsed. Ruggan Bor raised one eyebrow.

"Is she ill?"

Alysoun opened her eyes. "Why no, sir, but we have not eaten or drunk this past day, and I am weak with hunger." She fluttered her eyelids at the jack holding her. To the astonishment of the band, the jack blushed.

Ruggan Bor sighed. "Fine. Grissoul and Ermath, find this lot some food. You weasels will do your 'show' as soon as you've eaten." He turned his back and strutted away. The Juska weasel carefully lowered Alysoun to the ground.

"Oh thank you, good sir," she simpered, overacting horribly. The weasel blushed furiously, retrieved his cutlass and ran.

"Alysoun, you're shameless," said Miniver.

"Well, it worked."

* * *

Within half an hour, food was acquired. The tribesfolk seemed reluctant to refuse when confronted with the Seers, and soon the weasels were sitting down with wooden bowls of vegetable stew and, except in the case of Bryony, roasted pigeon. The Seers watched them as they fell upon the food. They tried to whisper to each other without the vixens noticing.

"We're doomed, aren't we?" Mawk squeaked, still trembling.

"Quiet!" Sylver hissed. "No, we are not doomed. I know we're in a sticky situation, but even this is better than being dead. We'll just have to do this show as best we can and hope they like it."

"Just don't think about what'll happen if they _don't_ like it," muttered Icham.


	17. Chapter Sixteen

**Chapter Sixteen.**

The sun had set, and the weasels prepared to perform their show.

They stood in the centre of the camp, surrounded by all three hundred beasts of the Juska. Several tribesmammals had climbed trees to get a better look. Most of them held weapons at the ready in case the performance was not up to scratch. For once Mawk-the-doubter was not the only one trembling with nerves.

Each weasel took a deep breath and struck up the first verse of a traditional Welkin ballad. Welkin's weasels have always loved music, even in the dark days before they had the powers of speech and thought.

As the band swayed and shimmied, they almost forgot their predicament in the sheer joy of the dance. Even Wodehed, who was old and creaky in the joints, and Mawk, who was somewhat plump and rather clumsy most of the time, never missed a step.

Unfortunately, the Juskabor were not the most appreciative audience. Jeers and catcalls nearly drowned out the weasels' singing, and several of the tribesmammals tried to join in (sometimes with slightly less pleasant words of their own). By the middle of the second verse, the spectators had become bored with simply shouting and started throwing things. More than once, the weasels had to duck pebbles - and one time, Icham was nearly hit with a hot ember flicked from a blade point.

Despite the tribe's best attempts, the weasels finally finished their dance. They stopped and bowed, waiting for applause. It didn't come, but a young buck rat stood up, yelled "Ye calls that a song?" and launched into the most disgusting ballad Sylver had ever heard. The rat's friends cheered him on as the weasels listened, gobsmacked -and not just by the song. The rats of Welkin still only had the rudiments of language, and to hear a rat talking clearly was somewhat surprising, though not as shocking as Nimbalo had been.

By the time the song was over, Luke was spluttering indignantly, Miniver and Icham were trying to hide their clicking, Bryony and Wodehed were looking very ill, Mawk was blushing so hard his white throat fur seemed to have turned pink, and Scirf was pretending very badly to be horrified while committing the words to memory. Sylver could feel that his own ears were hot with embarrassment. He hadn't even fully understood the last verse, and got the idea that he didn't really want to.

Thinking quickly as always, Scirf struck up the Mountain Hiker Song, guessing it would appeal to their audience. He was right, and soon most of the tribe was bawling out the chorus along with him; _". . . they broke their necks and drowned in becks, oh ain't it a crying shame? They snapped their spines and cracked their skulls and spilled their porridgey brains . . ."_ Firelight flickered over the faces of the Juskabor as they sang the bloodthirsty ditty, making their eyes and teeth gleam horribly. Combined with their tattoos, this lent them an almost demonic aspect. Scirf's voice faltered more than once, but since a couple of hundred voices were singing along, nobeast noticed. The other weasels huddled, Mawk weeping in terror and Luke humming every hymn he knew.

Finally the tribe howled out the last verse and sat back, cheering and making that strange barking noise Tagg and Nimbalo had called "laughing." A group of youngsters tried to start it again, but lost track of the verses because apparently none of them knew how to count. A stoat shouted "Wot else ha' ye got?" Some other beast added, "Yeah, singing's got _boring!"_ A general clamour of agreement rose from the crowd. More than a few voices were insisting that watching the weasels being skinned alive or spit-roasted would be more entertaining than their dancing.

Before Sylver could do anything, Wodehed leapt forward, swirling his dark-blue cloak dramatically. The effect was impressive, even though his face was still covered with smudges of paint. What he said next, however, struck terror into even Sylver's heart.

"From the uncharted lands of the uttermost east, I bring you the magic of Wodehed, the greatest sorcerer in the world!" he proclaimed.

Sylver saw Icham mouth, _Oh Dear Gods, NO!_

Wodehed's magic was notoriously terrible. Merely bad magicians waved their paws, said the funny words and failed to make anything happen. Wodehed, on the other paw, usually made something happen which was entirely different to what he was trying to do, and likely to cause severe damage. Sylver remembered his potion which turned the drinker into a frog, in theory. In practice, the wineskin he had kept it in had become a frog, leaving the drinker unharmed. This time, the wizard's ego had taken over. Sylver could only hope that the Juska would consider his mistakes funny enough to be worth watching, but there wasn't much hope of that, knowing Wodehed's luck.

In short, they were doomed.


End file.
